


Our Man in the Treasury

by cleverqueen



Category: Highlander: The Series, Yes Prime Minister
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 18:43:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17924252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleverqueen/pseuds/cleverqueen
Summary: A brief (for Yes, Prime Minister) conversation ensues when Bernard realizes he's seen the same name across multiple Prime Ministers' diaries. Is the existence of an Immortal civil servant really such a leap? (And does it surprise any reader that it would be Methos?)





	Our Man in the Treasury

**Author's Note:**

> While this is too long to be a drabble, please be aware that the entire plot is "Bernard discovers a long-lived civil servant."

“I’ve seen this name before,” said Bernard. 

“Well, I should certainly hope so,” said Sir Humphrey. “After all, _you_ have put it in the Prime Minister’s diary.” 

Bernard’s brow wrinkled as he attempted to reconcile the two conversational tacks. “No, Sir Humphrey. I mean that I’ve seen his name on the books before.” 

Sir Humphrey sighed. Bernard could be such a trial sometimes. “Yes, Bernard.” 

“The _old_ books, from the previous Prime Minister. When I was merging _the_ Prime Minister’s needs with, ah, the Prime Minister’s plans.” 

Sir Humphrey could have tried to make Bernard clarify. The young man had a knack for obfuscation that unfortunately _looked_ like obfuscation. He really needed to find a way to make his sentences more intelligible without benefit of inflection. Otherwise he’d get stuck explaining what he meant for days until someone actually _understood_ him, and that would be the worst travesty of all. 

But Sir Humphrey didn’t want to deal with professional development issues today, so he simply prodded Bernard to get to the point. “ _Yes_ , Bernard.” On reflection, his own predilection for inflected speech might not be helping the poor boy to overcome those oratorical deficiencies. 

“Well, it’s just, this man has shown up in our Prime Minister’s schedule, and in the previous Prime Minister’s schedule.” 

“That’s hardly newsworthy,” said Sir Humphrey. “It’s a difference of barely a few weeks.” 

“Right, yes.” Bernard adjusted his suit jacket, stirring up the scent of patchouli, as though he used the sachets his mother undoubtedly gave him at each house warming occasion. “This man—a secretary to the permanent undersecretary of the Treasury—he also shows up in _Churchill’s_ agenda.” 

A little odd, but not impossible. Though Sir Humphrey was beginning to have an inkling... 

“...and in Benjamin Disraeli’s,” Bernard finished. 

“Ah, _that_ secretary,” Sir Humphrey nodded. He knew the man. Very sound. A pillar of the civil service. (A _founding_ pillar.) “Well, he’s in the diary. What’s the problem? Is he late?” No one liked to keep a Prime Minister waiting. When politicians had spare time, they got _ideas_. 

“Heavens no, Sir Humphrey!” Bernard raised a hand to his tie, shocked to the core that a secretary might be anything other than punctual. “But... is it the same man?” 

A lesser mentor than Sir Humphrey might have laughed at Bernard’s naïveté. Either it was the same man for the last few hundred years, in which case there were more things on Heaven and Earth than dreamt of in Bernard’s heretofore untested philosophies, or it wasn’t the same man and Bernard was being a fanciful idiot. In both cases, Sir Humphrey could disclaim the truth. But misleading a fellow civil servant, even one as sincere and well-meaning as Bernard, would be a gross misconduct in his position. Even knowing that Bernard could never ascend to the lofty ranks of permanent undersecretary, even in surety that Bernard would never be the protégé that the younger man hoped to be, even knowing that Bernard often slipped and informed the Prime Minister of things which Prime Ministers _should not know_ , Sir Humphrey would be remiss is misinforming him. Civil servants should be open with one another, so that government could efficiently run along its proper tracks. 

Sir Humphrey said, “Yes, it’s the same man.” 

“He must be very old,” said Bernard, showing a talent for remarking on the obvious that would be more at home in a politician than a civil servant. Still, Sir Humphrey knew he’d gotten a first at Oxford—Oriel College, not Bailie—so he couldn’t be quite that bad. 

“Yes,” agreed Sir Humphrey. 

“White beard, glasses,” suggested Bernard. 

Sir Humphrey merely hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. 

Bernard picked up on that lack of agreement and tried again. “Surely, he must be ready to retire at any moment.” 

As if waiting for the perfect cue, the man in question appeared at Bernard’s desk. His brown hair was cropped short, but in a more fashionable way than most civil servants tried to get away with, and his eyes were a piercing blue. He seemed a tad younger than Sir Humphrey, though older than Bernard, and he carried a manila envelope under one arm with a cup of fragrant coffee in the other. He must have just come in from outside, since he wore a beige trench coat over his modern, slim-line suit. 

“Hello, Appleby,” said the new man. “It’s been a while since I saw you last. How have you been?” 

Sir Humphrey blushed and looked down, as if pleased to be noticed, and Bernard was amazed that such a thing could happen. Maybe if the man had been the Queen... or Sir Arnold’s Sir Arnold. “It’s _Sir Humphrey_ now, Mr. Adams,” corrected Sir Humphrey. 

The man’s—Mr. Adams’s, the Prime Minister’s 2 o’clock, the man who was older than the port Bernard drank on the weekend when visiting with old university friends—mouth quirked in a rueful smile. “Of _course_ it is,” he said. “My apologies, and my congratulations.” 

Sir Humphrey blushed some more. Bernard found it quite disconcerting. 

Apparently, Mr. Adams also noticed this unnatural behavior, because he changed the topic. “Introduce me to your young friend, _Sir_ Humphrey.” 

“Oh, yes, yes. Mr. Adams, this is Bernard Woolley, the Prime Minister’s personal private secretary. Bernard, this is Piers Adams, secretary to the permanent undersecretary of the Treasury.” 

“A pleasure to meet you,” said Mr. Adams. 

“And you,” said Bernard in a slightly strangled voice. _This_ man was hundreds of years old? He looked much younger, like he could handily win any of the civil service relay races on morale day all by himself. 

The three stood in tableau for a moment before Sir Humphrey prompted, “Well? Show him in, Bernard.” 

And Bernard did. Though, to his surprise, Sir Humphrey stayed outside to continue their discussion. 

“Don’t you want to join him?” Bernard asked. 

Sir Humphrey scoffed. “Join Mr. Adams? Whatever for?” 

“What if the Prime Minister needs you?” 

“ _Needs me?_ ” Sir Humphrey echoed. “No, no, Bernard. Mr. Adams is our man in the treasury. Quite sound.” 

There were very few people Sir Humphrey trusted alone with the Prime Minister. Of course, this man had centuries to prove himself to Sir Humphrey. Bernard was still stuck on one tiny, barely relevant issue, though. “And he doesn’t die?” 

“Of _course_ not, Bernard. If he died, he wouldn’t be in the diary, now would he?” 

Which was true. “Shouldn’t he get to retire?” And collect his pension. Ye gods, that would be expensive after _his_ term of service. Much better that Mr. Adams remained on the payroll. 

“And abandon his work? No, Bernard, Mr. Adams creates governmental _consistency_.” 

“Consistency,” Bernard heard himself echoing, as though he had no original thoughts in his head. Why was it that when Sir Humphrey repeated words, he sounded smarter than the person who had originally said them, but when Bernard did it he sounded like a man with a second from Goldsmiths? 

“Consistency.” Sir Humphrey nodded hard enough to make his blond hair shake. “Our Treasury briefs have never been so easy to understand.” 

Bernard gasped. _Easy to understand!_ “Don’t we want them to be incomprehensible?” he asked. And he immediately backtracked into spluttering, trying to recall the words. To state the policy so baldly seemed indiscreet. 

“Only to ministers.” Sir Humphrey’s smile was thin and amphibian, and it made Bernard want to hide under his desk. “ _Not_ to other secretaries.” 

“Ah,” said Bernard. “Well that’s all right then.” 

He may have continued spouting such banalities if the man in question had not opened the door from the Prime Minister’s office at that moment. “A pleasure, Prime Minister,” he said as he backed out. 

The PM followed him into the hall. When was the last time he’d seen Bernard’s desk at midday? It was unsettling. 

“It’s wonderful, absolutely wonderful.” Hacker beamed at Mr. Adams. 

“What’s wonderful, Prime Minister?” Sir Humphrey asked, as encouraging as a parent to a small child. 

“Mr. Adams has deftly cut through the red tape surrounding my new Plan.” 

Bernard couldn’t recall exactly which grand plan it was this week, but he was sure that both Sir Humphrey and Mr. Adams were against it. Sir Humphrey was always against any plans making real progress, and he believed Mr. Adams to be equally minded. 

Sir Humphrey smiled that amphibian smile again. “Has he really? How marvelous.” 

Mr. Adams ducked his head, deftly hiding his lack of actual demure from the Prime Minister, though not from Sir Humphrey and Bernard. “Of course I do my best for our great nation,” Mr. Adams said. “You can expect a white paper on your desk in less than a week.” 

“A week!” Hacker was laughing. It was an anemic laugh, more of a huffing that shook his chest in a cross between disbelief and hyperventilation. “He moves so fast. Don’t you think, Humphrey?” 

Very fast for a man who hadn’t changed job descriptions in a few hundred years. But Bernard couldn’t say that out loud. The Prime Minister probably wouldn’t find it funny anyway, and Sir Humphrey had already eyebrow-glared at him to warn him to keep quiet. 

Mr. Adams winked at Sir Humphrey. Ah, the white paper was some kind of stalling tactic. Of course. 

The Prime Minister was still crowing. “Wonderful, just wonderful.” 

Bernard looked down at the diary and penciled in a meeting with the Treasury for next week when the white paper landed. “Yes, Prime Minister,” he agreed.


End file.
